


to see beyond it

by besidemethewholedamntime



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Grief, based on the season 6 promo, but a hopeful ending, hurt minus the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 12:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17581157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besidemethewholedamntime/pseuds/besidemethewholedamntime
Summary: "She loves him so incredibly much, misses him so incredibly much. In here, in this dark and dingy chamber with the streak of too red, too much, blood on the window she feels as close to him as she fears she’ll ever be again. She just wants him back. Safe and sound and with her. It’s been months. She’s so terribly tired of fighting."They find the cryochamber and Jemma aches for Fitz. Based on the season 6 promo that has us all aching, too.





	to see beyond it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilsciencequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsciencequeen/gifts).



> Well wasn't that a surprise? I mean there is So Much here to unpack but honestly I don't even know where to start. I wish it could come back on air sooner rather than later so we could find out what it all meanssss but for now the fic writing shall have to do!  
> It's honestly been such a good muse unblocker, though. Like I wrote this in an hour and a half and I've been struggling to write things for weeks now so that was actually a nice surprise.  
> This is for Jess (@lilsciencequeen) because it's honestly about time I gifted her something for being such an amazing bean!  
> Oh, I haven't read any of the fics based on this promo yet because I didn't want to read one and then somehow accidentally incorporate those ideas into mine. So if this is similar to someone's then I'm truly sorry, I promise I've tried to limit it as much as I can!  
> Quote and title are from the poem 'Backwards' by Warsan Shire.  
> Thank you so much for getting here and I hope you enjoy!

 

 

 

_I’ll rewrite this whole life and this time there’ll be so much love,_

_you won’t be able to see beyond it._

 

It’s too much to process.

It’s her only thought.  The only thing that sticks in her brain. _This is too much to process._ She knows what she should do; rationalise it and break it down into little, bite-size chunks of information that can easily be digested by her poor brain. Jemma just can’t manage it, and _this is too much to process_ goes around and around her head like the saddest carousel in the world.

She can barely make it through the door. They brought the cryochamber here, after they found it, empty and abandoned on what was once presumably Enoch’s ship. It sits in the middle of the space, so innocently and yet not at all. The mere sight of it makes her feel sick and yet she cannot turn away. It’s like when a car crash happens in the middle of the street; by some horrifying curiosity you just want to _look_ , to see what’s going to happen, to know the end of the story.

At this point, Jemma would even settle for the most pathetic piece of the story. They were meant to find Fitz and instead all they’ve found is more questions than there shall ever be answers.

They cut their hair and changed their names months ago and yet she’s never felt more distant from everything she once knew than she does now.

“Come on, Jemma,” she whispers to herself. “You can do it.” And nodding to herself, and steeling her nerves, she takes little steps forward.

It looks so much like a coffin. As soon as she realises, she wants to flee. But she doesn’t, because she can’t, because there’s a pull as strong as there’s ever been that keeps her in place. _This is too much to process._ This is the last known place of her hus- of Fitz, and that has always been enough to make her stay.

She’s ill. She knows she is. There are blackberry coloured thumbprints pressed into the thinning flesh beneath her eyes, and her clothes hang looser and looser on her frame the more days that pass. Headaches build pressure beneath her eyes and make dots and stars appear at random. If it were anyone else in her condition, she’d make them take care of themselves; make them eat and drink proper and rest at all the right times.

But like the typical doctor which she still technically isn’t, she’s horrible at following her own advice. And some days she doesn’t know why she should, anyway.

With trembling hands, she reaches out to touch it. It’s cool underneath her fingertips. Somehow, in some twisted paradox, she expected it to be warm. Now it’s cold and she doesn’t know what to think about anything anymore. _This is too much to process._

Even though she knows it’s only going to hurt her, she looks inside the windows. Empty blackness is the only thing that looks back.

It hasn’t gotten easier. She wants to know why everybody says it does. She wants to know how people can live without their hearts after a certain period of time. She wants to know how and why it no longer hurts for them the way it does every moment of every day for her. She wants to know how the godawful feeling that makes it feel as though she is being cleaved in two in her chest will disappear. She wants to know when it will stop hurting.

And she’s ever so afraid that one day it will.

Because with hurt at least there’s feeling. The pain means she’s still here, still breathing, still _alive._ After the pain goes there’ll just be a nothingness that she’s not sure she could return from.

Jemma’s seen what that nothingness does to people, what it makes them do. She wants no part in that.

No. All she wants is _Fitz._

He was here. She knows that as a fact, but she can feel it in her bones. Every cell in her body vibrates with want, with recognition, because they know as well as she feels that he was here. This is worse than not having him at all. To have this residue, this ‘there but not there’ hurts more in a way she didn’t expect. It reminds her too much of the dark times before, when she had Fitz, but she didn’t have him, lost him to his own head before she lost him for real.

_This is too much to process._

She runs her fingers along the edges, jumping backwards in fright when she finds a release catch and the lid pops open a fraction. Cold air wafts out.

Before she truly knows what she’s doing, Jemma pushes up the lid a little more and finds herself clambering inside. It’s a little difficult; she’s no longer as agile as she once was, and when she gets inside, she’s more out of breath than she would like.

She lays down and shuts the lid, leaving it open just enough so that she can get back out again.

It’s dark in here – the window is woefully ineffective. How dark and lonely it must have been. How he must have thought he deserved it.

Jemma sniffs, for her tears will only steam up this already claustrophobic space. This is when she sees it. The streak of blood on the window. _This is too much to process._ Her heart jumps into her mouth and she wants to be sick.

There is, of course, no way right now of knowing if it is his. It might not be. There might be other explanations. But Jemma knows there’s really only one.

She closes her eyes and feels her tears burn the side of her face. She tries not to let them fall but by _God,_ it doesn’t half hurt. It feels as though she’s being carved in two with a spoon.

She loves him so incredibly much, misses him so incredibly much. In here, in this dark and dingy chamber with the streak of too red, too much, blood on the window she feels as close to him as she fears she’ll ever be again. She just wants him _back._ Safe and sound and _with her._ It’s been months. She’s so terribly tired of fighting.

There’s others in this fight. She has to remember that. It is not just her who hurts, not just her who cries at night until there’s nothing left. They are all hurting, in their own ways, for the way things were, for the lives they used to have. For the people they used to have. In the beginning they kept it to themselves, but now, occasionally, they share it and it makes things bearable for a while.

This discovery, this feeling, she fears marks the end. That there is nothing more they can do, now. They have no idea, no leads to follow. She is so desperately afraid that this is it, that this cold and empty box will nearly be all she will have left of him for the rest of her life. _This is too much to-_

 _No,_ she thinks to herself fiercely, allows the tears that have just fallen to be the last. _You have never been a quitter. You have never given up. You do not get to start now._

There have been many bursts like these over the months. Many sorrowful and melancholy moments that she has had a burst of energy released at the end, a reminder of who she is and what she stands for. A reminder of what she wants.

But this is the last one, she decides. No more feeling sorry for herself and no more thinking of what could have been. There is more than just herself she needs to worry about now, more than her that is relying on herself to find him. This is the final push, the last hurdle before the finish line, the last storm before the clouds are blown away forever.

Of course, this is not the end. This is nowhere near the end. This is, perhaps, only just the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to leave kudos/comments. Please feel free not to. Either way, I hope you have a lovely day!


End file.
